


Pick Up Queue Ficlets -- Sterek

by eeyore9990



Series: Pick Up Queue Ficlets [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale's Eyebrows - Freeform, First Kiss, Flash Fic, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Star Wars References, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-13 06:43:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 18,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5698804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a bunch of random (Sterek) ficlets written in the car on my phone.  :D  </p><p>Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wookiee

**Author's Note:**

> A variety of ficlets that I write on my phone in my car while waiting to pick up my son from school. They are each written in about 15 mins, so fandoms/pairings/warnings may vary based on the ficlet. I will provide warnings in the beginning notes on each 'chapter'.
> 
> Warnings for Chapter 1, "Wookiee": None

Stiles splayed out backward, legs spread, hand clutching his belly as he laughed helplessly at Derek’s truly inspired Chewbacca speak. When he effortlessly switched to a Yoda-voice mid growl, Stiles collapsed sideways, hiding his face against Derek’s chest, which was shaking a little as he tried to stifle his own laughter.

“Oh my god,” Stiles howled, the sound muffled as he wiped the tears streaming down his face on Derek’s super-soft henley. “Oh, jesus, dude, I think I pulled something. Oww oww, my side.” Flopping back with a groan and a last little giggle when Derek went “hhhhnnnnrrrrggh” under his breath, Stiles turned his head and said, “How did I not know what a nerd you are? Holy shit dude, that was awesome. I love you, man!”

Closing his eyes, Stiles massaged at the stitch in his side, mouth still stretched wide in a grin he couldn’t contain. “You’re the best,” he sighed happily.

“You…” There was something off about Derek’s voice. Something a little soft, cracked. 

He’d probably strained it with all the Wookiee.

Opening his eyes again, Stiles turned to Derek with a raised eyebrow, only to see Derek staring at him with an expression that matched his voice. A little soft. Slightly broken. 

His eyes were wide in the middle, the lids quivering a little. His brows were loose, as relaxed as Stiles had ever seen them. It was.. shock? Awe?

Shit. What the hell had Stiles said to cause _that_?

Replaying the conversation in his head, Stiles finally caught on and when he did, he jack-knifed upright, muscles tense to help throw himself off the couch.

But Derek’s hands stopped him, one landing on his knee, the other on his shoulder.

“You meant like… joking? Friend?” Derek asked, letting Stiles have this out. 

Swallowing hard, Stiles could only stare at the little hole in the lower half of Derek’s shirt from where the material had been washed too many times. Slowly, he shook his head, teeth worrying at the inside of his lip. 

The hand on his shoulder slid to gently grasp his chin, lifting until Stiles was looking directly at Derek. This time his eyes looked a little heavy, sloping toward the corners and dark with some expression Stiles had never seen.

Gently tugging on Stiles’ lip with his thumb, Derek made a soft noise when it popped free of his teeth, then he dipped his head, bringing their faces a breath apart before he whispered, “Me too.”

Stiles leaned forward, soothing his abused lip with the softness of Derek’s mouth. It was… amazing.


	2. Scars?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: None.

“So let me get this straight,” Stiles manfully ignored Scott’s snort and plowed on. “You can’t scar. No scar tissue. None.”

Derek sighed, one eyebrow lifting at Stiles as if to say _yeah, and??_ He’d obviously known Stiles long enough to realize that wasn’t actually the sticking point for him.

“Not even, like–” he floundered, tried to think of something big enough.

“Not even a pole through the chest, Stiles,” Derek bit out.

 _Or a sword through the gut,_ Stiles’ traitorous brain supplied, making him drop his gaze to the floor and breathe through the guilt. But not even the horrors that still plagued his nightmares could stop him now.

“So,” he said, forcing a bit of levity into his voice as he saw Scott’s concerned face directed at him in his periphery. “So if it’s not a scar, then… is that an honest-to-God _cowlick_ in your eyebrow?”

Stiles punched Scott in the side when he sporfled. It was a serious question, dammit.

But the damage was already done. Derek was on his feet and collecting his jacket as he strode toward the door. “See you next week, Scott,” he offered through gritted teeth.

“Wait! It’s a legitimate question!”

Derek just flared his nostrils at Stiles in answer, slamming the door on his way out.

“Oh my god, dude,” Scott wheezed, clutching his side. “That was excellent.”

“I wasn’t trying to be an asshole,” Stiles grumbled, picking at his jeans.

“Nah. It’s just a natural gift.” Scott cocked his head, the grin on his face growing. “Derek agrees.” Then Scott leaned forward and whispered, “It’s totally a cowlick.”


	3. Lightsabers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Stiles is hurt, but no gross details.

The best thing to come out of The Force Awakens, for Stiles anyway, was finding out Lydia was a closet Star Wars geek. She _might_ have drunkenly shown him a picture of teeny Lydia dressed up in a tiny white terry cloth robe with her hair in sloppy buns on either side of her head.

It was _awesome._

More awesome than even that, though, was that the new movie stirred a passion in her to create a lightsaber. Not a light attached to a child’s toy, no. An actual, honest to goodness saber made of a laser strong enough to cut through steel.

His quiet, unhappy sigh of, “But lasers don’t work like that,” had been met with sparking green eyes and a muttered, “They _will._ ” 

And look, if the laws of physics were going to bend to anything, they were going to bend to Lydia’s sheer force of will. So Stiles stopped using logic and started using his absolute belief in Lydia and… 

And that’s why he was in the hospital now, staring in awe at the most glorious example of masculine beauty he’d ever laid eyes upon. The man was a _doctor_ and was too pretty to be real with a close-cropped beard, kind and gentle eyes that were like kaleidoscopic or something and he had this voice that was so soft and unexpected and–

“Huh?” Stiles asked, because he’d checked right out.

The doctor’s smile this time was a little strained, and he flicked a quick look at the monitors hooked up to Stiles. “I was explaining that the… laser–”

“Lightsaber,” Lydia said, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“Uh huh. It didn’t hit anything vital, but the nature of lasers means it cauterized the tissue as it cut you, so…”

“So?”

The doctor blinked at Stiles, probably wondering why the fuck he was grinning dopily. “Did the nurses give you something to manage the pain?” he muttered, pulling Stiles’ chart off the foot of the bed.

Lydia snorted, crossing her arms on Stiles’ other side. “No, that’s just Stiles.”

“Huh.” The doctor flipped a few more pages before setting the chart to the side. “I could open the wound and try to clean out the scar tissue, but it would honestly do more harm than good. It’s your choice.”

“Nah, I mean. That’s cool.” Stiles honestly was trying to react appropriately, but this guy was making it super hard. 

Hur. _Hard._

“Thank you, Dr. Hale,” Lydia said, reaching across Stiles’ body to offer her hand.

“It’s my job,” he said, then dipped his gaze to Stiles again. “I’d suggest monitoring your boyfriend in the presence of high powered lasers, however.”

“ _Lightsaber,_ ” Lydia stressed with a tight smile. Then she smiled, all charm and grace – a cold wave of terror swept over Stiles – and said sweetly, “And he’s not my boyfriend. He’s completely free. No significant others whatsoever.”

“So he definitely subscribes to the Jedi code, then?” Dr. Hale asked, though he was looking directly at Stiles again as he did. 

“Nope,” Stiles breathed, caught in those eyes again. “More like Han Solo. Abstinence based on lack of partners rather than lack of desire.”

Hale grinned down at his hands, which were suddenly clutching the side rails of Stiles’ bed. “I dunno. I always figured he and Chewie helped each other out.”

“Oh my god.” Stiles felt his eyes go heart shaped. “Marry me?”

It was the first proposal, but not the last…


	4. Haunting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Light angst

Stiles sees him everywhere after he leaves. Just…there isn’t anywhere in this town that isn’t tainted by the memory of Derek.

No, not _tainted,_ that sounds so awful. Like a bad breakup. An ex.

And that’s the thing. They aren’t exes. They weren’t anything more to each other than allies. Tentative friends.

They were getting somewhere, earlier. Maybe?

Or maybe they weren’t and it was just all in Stiles’ head. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s dreamed up more of a relationship with someone than reality supported.

Honestly, he’d barely spent any time with him after the mess of the Nogitsune. Or at least, not with _his_ Derek. 

And wasn’t that a joke, that he felt like he could claim any version of Derek as his own? 

But they’d been pulled a million different directions that last month of the whole Kate/berserker/dead pool situation. Too much happening and not enough people to take care of everything.

So Stiles’ last real memories of him are the van ride and watching Derek bleed out, dying in front of him. Seeing him hale (hah) and whole afterward had been _startling._ It had thrown him for such a loop that Stiles hadn’t even said goodbye, so now he was stuck in this limbo state.

There hadn’t been closure.

Not that there had been open…ure. Or whatever the opposite of closure was.

But Stiles still felt haunted by the ghost of what might have been. Of the potential for a close friendship. For a relationship that might one day have been more than friendship.

And everywhere he looked in this damn town, from the diner to the goddamn locker room, all he could see were scenes, images of their time together.

Bitter and frustrating.

He just….

Stiles sighed, letting his head fall back against the head rest in his Jeep, eyes locked on the black Camaro in the hospital parking lot. The one he knew, intellectually, wasn’t Derek’s. But the one that made a flood of emotion curl through him regardless.

He just needed to leave this town and these not-memories behind him. Needed to forget Derek like Derek had forgotten him.

College couldn’t come fast enough.


	5. Breathless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: None

It was a moment too fragile to withstand the weight of a breath. It had taken _years_ to build to it, but a single word, a glance too hard, would shatter it.

Derek looked at Stiles from inches away, the light cutting unevenly across his cheeks, dappling his eyes so they turned transparent, _glowed_ with an emotion that smelled of fear and anxiety but also want. _Need._ The same emotions that had Derek’s heart pounding in his chest as the moment swelled, built higher.

“Can I…?” Stiles lifted his hand, the long fingers curling under before they could touch.

Derek dipped his chin, his entire body swaying closer, helping Stiles press forward that last inch. 

Stiles’ palm settled against Derek’s jaw, his skin a little cool to the touch. His eyes widened and a sound burst through his parted lips, amazement and awe. A sound of discovery. His thumb pressed firmly against the place an inch from Derek’s mouth.

“Dimples,” Stiles breathed, his lips curving up to show off his own. Then he gripped a little more, tipped Derek’s chin just enough.

Just enough for parted lips to brush his mouth, the whisper of tongue an unknowing tease. 

“Is that…?”

“Yeah,” Derek breathed, leaning in again, his own hands coming into play, grasping Stiles’ hips, sliding his fingers under the belt loops for better purchase, his thumbs skimming the elastic that peeked above the waist of Stiles’ jeans.

He couldn’t think about what was under that elastic. He’d lose control then, push too hard.

Shatter the moment.

And he _wanted_ this moment, had been desperate for it for too long. So he stayed, patient and ready, let Stiles set the pace. Huffed a warm breath across Stiles’ spit-shiny lips and tipped his head further, inviting a firmer touch.

Stiles accepted his invitation with a quiet sound, his fingers scritching through the hair on Derek’s face, turning the entire experience into a sensual feast. The light swirl of Stiles’ tongue against his, the soft, plushness of his lips, the taste of cherry soda and caramel candy. Caramel to match the eyes closed lightly in bliss as their first kiss melted into their third, their tenth…

Derek stopped counting. Finally realized he was breathing again.

And nothing broke.


	6. Nana Betty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: None
> 
> Based on [this post](http://annabethlemorte.tumblr.com/post/136796574566/motherfuckingdragonsyo-i-made-an-old-lady-blush) as requested by anon.
>
>> I made an old lady blush today at work because she ordered two senior coffees and I said “SENIOR ? I’m sorry miss, i’m going to have to ask to see some ID.” and she covered her mouth and went “Oh dear me” and couldn’t stop smiling

Stiles leaned on the counter, his elbows tucked under his body as his favorite customer came into the coffee shop. She was about 4'9, had brilliantly blue hair -- "I'm a blue-haired old lady, Stiles!" -- and was just the most awesome person he'd ever met. He had no idea how old she was, but she always asked for the senior discount and today he knew just what to say.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her. "You want what kind of discount?"

Betty blinked at him, an eyebrow arching high on her forehead. "A senior discount? The same as you give me every day."

Stiles set his expression into 'dubious' and made a low, hmm-ing sound. "Yeah, I dunno. I could get in trouble with the boss, just handing out discounts to every hot lady that comes through the door. I'm afraid I'll have to see some ID, miss."

Betty's jaw dropped, outrage tinting her cheeks before she seemed to understand where he was going with this and then… and then her cheeks pinkened even more, her eyes sparkled with delight, her nose scrunched, and she covered her mouth. "Oh, my," she breathed, a tiny giggle slipping out.

Looking left and right, Stiles jerked his head, indicating he wanted her to move in closer. When she did, he whispered, "Look, if you have someone who can vouch for you, I'll let it go this time. But…" He let his voice trail off meaningfully, waggling his eyebrows. "It'll cost you."

"Oh yeah?" She was playing along now, lips pursed and eyes narrowed, though he could see how her mouth quivered with the need to laugh.

"A kiss!" he crowed, nearly falling over the other side of the counter in his enthusiasm.

"Well," Betty looked around at the two other patrons, then back at Stiles. "I'm a married woman and have a reputation to maintain, but…"

She grabbed the sides of his face and pulled him into a loud, smacking kiss. Right on the mouth.

It was _fantastic._

It was slightly less fantastic when Derek Hale, Stiles' smoking hot _manager,_ came flying out of the back, flour coating his hands. And dusting his beard. And there was some over the place his nipple tented the cloth of his shirt on the right side.

Shit, Stiles was so gone on him. 

_And,_ by the look of those eyebrows he was about to get fired, so--

" _Nana?!_ What are you… why are you _kissing_ my employees? Oh my god, Stiles, I'm so--"

"Nana?" Stiles asked, jaw nearly on the floor. Turning back to Betty, he pointed a finger at her. "You're _Derek Hale's_ Nana?"

"I have a few other grandchildren as well, but yes." Betty rocked forward in her boots, cackling. 

And Stiles knew why, of course. He'd told her _all about_ his ridiculous crush and _oh my god they'd discussed the geometry involved in measuring the slope of Derek's ass!_

"But _why,_ Nana?" Derek asked, sounding wounded, his hands tearing at his hair… and leaving flour behind.

"Just because my grandson doesn't know how to make a move doesn't mean I don't," Betty sniffed. "If you won't kiss him, I will."

"Stiles, I'm so sorry. That's so inappropriate. I'm your manager. I would never take advantage--"

"Do I have to quit to get my kiss?" Stiles blurted out, his mouth three steps ahead of his brain.

"What?" Derek slowly met his eyes. "I don't want you to quit. I just--"

"Good lord, boys, I'm going to die before you do something at this rate."

Stiles leapt, pressing his neon-pink lipsticky mouth to Derek's. When they finally parted, Stiles whispered, "Gotta protect Nana Betty."

"Yeah." Derek nodded, then ducked his head for a much better kiss.

Stiles had floury handprints on his ass the rest of the day.


	7. Leaving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this prompt:
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: Minor, resolved angst

Everything was wrong. It was… _bad_. They had left this kind of fighting behind years before and suddenly… This happened.

Stiles could literally _see_ his life crumpling to ruins around him. He didn’t even know why they were fighting anymore and he wanted to stop. He _did_ , but then Derek would get that look on his face, the shuttered, closed-off look that Stiles hadn’t seen in _years_ and Stiles would start yelling again just to get him _back._

His Derek. His passionate Derek who debated the merits of movies and loved ice cream sandwiches and wore thick sweaters and played with their dog and…

The Derek Stiles wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

But right now he was stuck with _this_ Derek, the angry, cold, sullen Derek, and Stiles just…

“What the fuck do you want me to do, Derek?” he finally asked, low and hard, his voice only shaking a little.

“Whatever the fuck you want to do, Stiles. I’m not your keeper. Just… get your shit and go.”  
[[MORE]]  
And oh. Oh wow, that… Stiles had to take a minute, breathe through the pain of that one, holy shit. That… that cut too damn deep. 

When Stiles stumbled back a step, the weight of Derek _kicking him out_ plowing into him with the force of a freight train, Derek’s expression flickered, his eyebrows loosening in sorrow. His eyes went squinty with his own pain at saying words that couldn’t be taken back and his lips parted, Stiles’ name falling from them as he obviously geared himself up to try anyway.

But Stiles straightened his spine, chin tilting upward. “Take my shit and leave? Yeah, okay.”

Derek’s eyes flared with pain and he lifted a hand, which actually helped. Stiles grabbed the hand, yanking on it even as he bent over and put his shoulder to Derek’s waist, his free hand wrapping around his thigh. With a wheeze of effort, Stiles lifted Derek clear off his feet and staggered toward the door.

His big, dramatic gesture was almost over before it began when Derek stiffened, lifting his upper body and throwing Stiles’ center of gravity off. He stumbled sideways into the wall, then strained his thighs as he forced himself to straighten and huff the rest of the way to the door.

“Stiles?” Derek asked, his voice a little thick from hanging upside down. 

“The only thing of mine,” Stiles gasped, “that I can’t live without–” He crashed into the door, entire body spasming with effort. “–is you. So I’m taking my shit – and don’t even argue about being a fucking shithead – and leaving.”

Derek was quiet for a few seconds before his arms snaked around Stiles’ waist. He held on tight, hugging Stiles upside down and backwards, his big body shuddering almost as hard as Stiles’. “Okay,” he finally said, the words muffled against Stiles’ back.

“You’re damn right,” Stiles somehow got the door open, “it’s okay.”

There was absolutely no fucking way he was going to make it down the porch steps without killing them both.

With the last bit of breath left to him, Stiles whistled for Starbuck, their seriously ugly bulldog poodle mix.

“Are you ready to put me down so we can go back inside and have makeup sex?” Derek asked, even as Starbuck came running up, tongue hanging out.

“Pretty sure I can’t do that,” Stiles admitted on a horrible-sounding wheeze.

But thankfully, they were in the doorway, so Derek grabbed the doorjamb and did some acrobatic maneuvers until he was sliding gracefully from Stiles’ shoulder. The sudden relief made Stiles’ knees crumple, but Derek – with a bit of slobbery help from Starbuck – was there to catch him.

To catch him and lift him up into Derek’s arms and carry him back inside where they spent several minutes just holding each other and breathing apologies into each other’s skin.

And then there was make up sex that only had to be paused once because they’d forgotten about the dog… and Stiles caught him watching over the edge of the bed.


	8. Mean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings on this chapter

Stiles listened to Derek’s scathing commentary, most of it aimed at Stiles and his tendency to throw himself in the path of danger and blah blah blah, werewolves are so awesome, blahdiblah…

Yeah, Stiles checked out of the whole rant with the third insult because okay, listen, if Derek didn’t stop being mean to him–

“– I’m gonna end up falling in love with you, okay, and _no one wants that_ , Derek.” 

Stiles blinked at his hands, which were pressed to Derek’s cheeks, smushing his whole, beautiful face until even his mouth was all fish-lippy. 

Ummm. Oops?

“What.” Derek’s smushy mouth barely formed the word, but his narrowed eyes and lowered brows sort of spoke for him.

Sighing, Stiles mentally ordered his fingers to unpeel themselves from Derek’s face, but somewhere between his fingers raising up and actually letting go, they got distracted and started petting Derek’s surprisingly soft and yet still wiry beard. It was amazing, okay?

“It’s a sickness or something, dude,” Stiles muttered, glaring at his disobedient hands. “Something about mean people turns me on.”

“Yeah? Well.” Derek licked his lips now that they weren’t all squished up. “You’re an idiot.”

Stiles’ shoulders slumped and his hands fell to his sides, still twitching restlessly in happiness after being all up on that face. “I know.” He shrugged. “Habits of a lifetime, though–”

“No, I mean.” Derek frowned, his gaze turning intent. “ _You’re an idiot._ ” When Stiles just continued to stare at him, uncomprehending, Derek growled. “I’m being mean, dammit.”

Stiles’ mouth dropped open before curving up into a wide smile. “Yeah?”

Derek’s jaw clenched and he looked down. “Yeah.”

Giving in, Stiles reached up and smushed Derek’s face again, then sucked his own cheeks in until he was making fish lips as well. Then he pressed their lips together.


	9. Wet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Anon and the prompt: I don't know all the details but recently a high wave knocked a girl off a pier into the water in Southern California. She was saved by a Marine jumping in after her. Imagine in an AU, Derek on vacation and begrudgingly getting his picture taken by his sisters and is knocked into the water. All the Hales are trying to continue with the act of being human and Stiles being the one to "save" Derek, looking all delicious in Marine uniform (or whatever). Wet Stiles is made of win.
> 
> No warnings on this chapter

Derek sighed and stared in Laura’s direction, letting his sisters’ voices fade into background noise. They’d been assholes the entire day, making him take dozens of pictures in varying ridiculous poses.

So now he was just crossing his arms and glowering, hoping his boredom with this whole undertaking would be enough to make them stop.

He honestly didn’t know why he couldn’t just go to the portrait studio place for his senior portraits like every other 18 year old in existence.

“Because you’re not a basic bitch,” Cora had replied when he’d asked just that. “Or, well, you _are_ , but we’re invested enough in you to make sure the fewest number of people possible find out.”

Derek scowled even harder remembering that, prompting Laura to yell something at him. Since he was ignoring her, all he caught was “wave” so he put on his most sarcastic expression and lifted his hand in a limp wave.

Which was when about a thousand gallons of ocean water crashed down over his head, sucking him straight off the railing of the pier he’d been perched on.

–

Arms came around him, long and strong, tugging him down, down… Derek fought, throwing an elbow backward and connecting with something. 

And then his head breeched the surface and he sucked in a giant lungful of air. Up, then. The person holding him had been dragging him _up_ and gotten an elbow to the face for their efforts.

“Jesus, dude,” a distinctly male voice coughed in his ear. “I’m not expecting a thank you, but a little less violence would be nice.”

“Sorry, I thought…” A violent series of watery coughs cut Derek off, and he nearly inhaled more water when his convulsions made the guy lose his grip.

Arms tightening around his chest jerked him up at the last second. “Yeah, you pulled a Fresh Prince.”

“Wha–” Derek gasped, finally able to help propel them toward the shore.

“You know, your life got flipped, turned upside down.” He even sang it, though Derek could hear the strain of fighting the undertow in the guy’s voice.

Finally, Derek’s feet touched sand, and he was able to haul himself the rest of the way to the beach before flopping onto his back.

“Holy shit,” his guy whispered, and Derek opened his eyes to find an incredibly cute, water-drenched boy about his age staring at him with wide, doe-brown eyes. “Um. I guess you don’t need mouth to mouth, huh?”

Only, the way he said it sounded like a suggestion, one Derek was definitely not above accepting. 

“I dunno,” he rasped, laying back in the wet sand. “I’m suddenly feeling a little breathless.”

“I’m Stiles,” the guy said, his head drifting toward Derek’s.

“Derek.”

The “nice to meet you” was muffled by their mouths pressing together.

Which is the story of how Cora and Laura broke up Derek’s first impromptu make out session with Stiles… and the explanation for the pictures that ‘accidentally’ got sent to family far and wide with his graduation announcement.


	10. Panties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: NSFW, Derek Hale in panties :D

Stiles knelt there, fingers digging into his thighs as his hands clenched uncontrollably. His dick was pressing so hard against the front of his jeans, he was sure an imprint of his zipper was permanently etched into the sensitive skin. He breathed through the overwhelming arousal, each humid puff ragged and occasionally accompanied by a high-pitched whine. “Derek,” he finally begged, his will shattered.

Derek looked up at him through his long lashes, a hint of a smirk playing around his lips – which was far better than the tinge of fear that had pulled his pretty mouth taut when Stiles had first walked in on him. “Hmm?” he teased, his fingers skating around the waistband of the lacy turquoise panties. 

Then he turned around, weight all shifted to his toes as he lifted his heels, showing off the beautifully bunching muscles in his legs and… and his ass.

“Please!” Stiles blurted, licking his lips and edging forward just a little. Just… leaning more than anything. Drawn to the curve of that magnificent ass.

“What do you want?” Derek asked, his soft voice husky. His eyes caught Stiles in the reflection of his mirror, their color seeming to swirl and brighten to match the color of the panties, which was just… absurd and not at all fair.

“I want,” the words shuddered to a halt on Stiles’ tongue because there was no way to define with the English language exactly what he wanted. So he decided to start small. “I want to feel you. I want to smell you and taste you and see if they’re scratchy or soft. I want to suck you off _through_ them. I want to find a crotchless pair and let you fuck me while you’re wearing them. And then fuck you with them on.”

“That sounds,” Derek’s voice was strangled, prompting him to cough, which made his ass tighten even further. 

Stiles whined again, tears building at the edges of his lashes from denying himself relief.

“That sounds fair and equitable. Very egalitarian of you.”

“Uh, no. I’m not into horses.” Stiles smiled at the blank, shocked look on Derek’s face. “Although I have no problem riding a guy who appears to be hung like one. Oh, and Derek?”

“Hnn?” Derek asked, still blinking, bemused.

“Fuck you for your lack of faith. I know the difference between egalitarianism and equinophilia.”

Derek finally laughed as he turned, one finger quirked at Stiles who didn’t hesitate to knee-crawl forward, mouth already dropping open before he was even close enough to use it.


	11. Sweatpants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter
> 
> Dedicated to Lady Drace

“Derek you have to… come…” Stiles’ tongue went numb in his mouth, causing his words to come out sort of mushy and, “blergh,” he added decisively.

Derek stood framed in the doorway, hair a mess atop his head, chest wonderfully bare and a pillow-crease cutting from one muscular shoulder down across the mid-line of his chest – because he obviously _cuddled his pillow while sleeping_ – and his sweats slung low enough on his hipbones that his happy trail was actually fucking _ecstatic._ Stiles’ gaze caught and held there because the loose, tattered strings of Derek’s sweats hung down, but not in the straight line that gravity should be pulling them into. 

Oh, no.

No, no, the strings sort of hit the firm, _hanging_ edge of Derek’s obvious-to-the-naked-eye dick and then waterfalled over it, so it was… Obscene. It was obscene.

Stiles had been managing his life really well not knowing that Derek’s dick naturally curved to the left. Now he was probably going to spiral downward into drugs and alcohol with a final pit stop at prostitution just to ease the pain of knowing this _and never being able to use that knowledge for his own purposes._

“What?” Derek asked, voice hoarse and… hahaha, what an asshole. 

“Dick,” Stiles breathed, a bit of awe in his tone… though whether it was for Derek’s anatomy or personality, he couldn’t say.

“Stiles…” Derek sighed, rubbing his eyes as he slumped against the door, his mouth cracking open wide in a sleepy yawn. “Why did you come here? Besides to annoy and insult me.”

“Scott,” Stiles mumbled, no longer even trying not to stare at the line of Derek’s dick. 

“What about him?” Derek asked, shifting forward.

“Hmm? Who?”

“Scott? You said… Stiles, what is wrong with you?”

Stiles let out a broken, manic cackle, eyes wide as he gestured to Derek’s everything. “I can see your dick!” he blurted, incapable of keeping that thought behind his teeth.

Derek looked down, seeming surprised at realizing he even owned a dick. “Wha– Jesus, Stiles, it’s not like you’ve never seen one.”

Stiles flailed at the unfairness of Derek’s judgy everything. “Not one I wanted to put my mouth on!”

“You… wanna put your mouth on my dick?” Derek narrowed his eyes before knocking the side of his head against the still-open metal door. “Ow. Not sleeping.”

“I mean. Have you _seen_ your dick? Of course I wanna put my mouth on it. Hell, I wanna put my _everything_ on it.”

Derek pursed his lips, taking a long, hard look at Stiles before letting his gaze drag down Stiles’ body and back up. Shrugging, he finally said, “Okay. But not before we go rescue Scott from whatever mess you’ve gotten him into this time.”

“What? ‘Okay?’ What does that even – no, wait, get back here,” he shouted after Derek, who was already down the first set of stairs, still shirt- and shoeless. “Scott’s a big boy. He can take care of himself!” Scurrying after Derek, Stiles tried not to trip over his own feet as he watched Derek’s ass jiggle, unrestrained in frayed, soft cotton.

“He’s a True Alpha!” he called desperately, in a last-ditch attempt to get Derek to turn back and deal with the situation in _Stiles’_ pants.

The only response he got was a dark, teasing chuckle just before Derek hooked a thumb in his waistband and flashed one beautiful cheek at him. 

“Oh fuck,” Stiles whimpered, trying to adjust his rapidly-strangling cock.

“Depends on how long you waste standing around.”

Stiles had never vaulted an entire set of stairs before… Just another thing hanging around the supernatural gave him to add to his resume.


	12. Hugging Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter

Derek was minding the shop, alone in the small bookstore at 2:15 on a Thursday when the bell over the door tinkled. He set the box in his arms down and was about to greet the customer when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Before he even turned, the familiarity of the person’s scent hit him, making his knees wobble the tiniest bit. But it was okay because those long arms were there to steady him, to slip around his torso and hold tight.

“If I’d known then,” the voice that reached his ears was the same as the last time he’d heard it, but instead of sharp with sarcasm, it was thick with emotion, “that it would be the last time I’d see you, I would have done this in Mexico.” Stiles’ strong arms tightened even further, almost constricting Derek’s lungs, but…

Well, Derek wasn’t much better. Face buried in the thick hair behind Stiles’ ear, he _breathed_ him in, smelling stale sugar, old leather, fresh…bread? None of the scents of the pack were recent enough to overlay the others, but unless they’d all made the journey to New York, that was to be expected.

Derek found himself swaying slowly on his feet, arms wrapped around Stiles, one hand clutching the back of his neck, the other fisted in the thin cotton of his tshirt. “Stiles,” he whispered, voice thin with awe.

“Yeah, dude. I’m here.”

Derek dropped his face to the side of Stiles’ neck, needing to rub the scent of himself over what smelled like a too-long trip in the Jeep. 

He wanted to know everything – NYU or Columbia, would Stiles bend enough in his Yankees hate to go to a game with him, how long he was staying, did he need a place to stay, _why hadn’t he found Derek sooner_ – but that was all stuff they’d have plenty of time for. And…

And well, Derek wasn’t quite ready to let go. Not yet.

So they stood there like that, two men locked in a desperate hug, bodies rocking under the emotional weight of their reunion, all of it framed in the window of a quaint bookstore in Brooklyn.

It would be a long time before they’d find the strength to draw apart, and even then, they wouldn’t go far.


	13. Tremors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings

Tremors ran through Stiles’ hands, setting his fingers twitching. His heart was racing in his chest, a perfect tell to the chaos of fear and hope and anticipation that had been building for years.

His breath rushed over his lips, a moist huff of air that carried a small, questioning sound with it. 

His eyelids quivered in indecision – should he keep them open or close them? Nothing had actually happened yet, after all, so closing them seemed… presumptuous. And he never, _ever,_ wanted to give the impression of presuming anything about this moment.

About this man.

Yes, he’d wanted Derek for years. There was no hiding that and he’d never really tried regardless. To hide it would be to attach shame to it and he _wouldn’t_ do anything to make Derek feel shame for this. For them. For Stiles.

But he’d never pushed. It was the one and only area of his life in which he’d known, down deep in his soul, that to push this would destroy it before it could begin. So he’d waited. Learned patience.

Learned to put another’s feelings before his own. Learned when to be gentle and when _not_ to be. Learned when to reach out and when to wait for touch to be offered.

He’d mapped his way around the most dangerous, sharp and fearful places in Derek’s psyche, in his huge, broken heart. He’d patched the places he could and simply left other holes where they were, knowing as he did that some holes were never meant to be filled in.

And in turn, Stiles got this. The greatest reward. 

He got Derek’s trust. His small, hard-won smiles. He got those big hands cupping his jaw and tilting his head just right.

He got the wash of Derek’s own humid breath over his parted lips. He got the gentlest brush of lips. Got to see Derek’s lashes fan down, so dark against his cheeks, just before his own eyes fell shut.

He got the comfort of arms around him, pulling him close, the warmth of Derek’s body pressed against him, filling up his tight embrace.

Half a dozen years was no time at all. Not for a reward this great.


	14. Hey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings.

Derek waited, his eyes squeezed closed, breath trapped in his lungs. He felt the brush of long, cool fingers along the side of his neck and then… nothing.

“Hey.” A gust of warm breath accompanied the softly spoken word, and the fingers pressed a little harder, settled a little more firm against his skin.

Derek's eyebrows arched high in question, but he was otherwise powerless to move.

There came the soft brush of a nose against his own, then, “Open your eyes.”

Blowing out the breath he’d been holding, Derek’s eyelids quivered a little before slowly sliding open. From inches away, warm brown eyes stared back, as serious as he’d ever seen them. As if the weight of this moment wasn’t lost on Stiles.

“Hey,” Stiles said again, the word pulling his lips into a soft smile. “There you are.”

“What are you talking ab–?” Derek’s question was interrupted by the soft – so soft – brush of Stiles’ mouth over his own. 

Then, Stiles’ hand fell away from his neck and landed on his arm, sliding down until their palms were rubbing, long fingers entwining with his own and gripping tight.

“I wanted to make sure,” Stiles whispered, squeezing gently, “that it was just us here for this. Just you and me,” he murmured, rubbing the tip of his nose across Derek’s again. “No ghosts.”

This time it was Derek reaching out, finding Stiles’ free hand with his own and pulling it between them, placing it safe over his heart.

“No ghosts,” he said, his voice a little rough.

Stiles’ smile was wide, _happy_ –and wasn’t that something, that Derek could be responsible for such a thing – before he moved closer, nuzzling into Derek as he pressed in for a kiss. Their lips met, brushed, parted. Met again. Longer this time, clinging.

Then Stiles sighed and tilted his head, lips parting and suckling at Derek’s bottom lip until he opened his mouth enough to nip at Stiles’ top lip.

If you had asked Derek before, he’d have told you there was no room for laughter, no time for holding hands in something as simple as a kiss. He’d have scoffed at two lovers keeping their eyes open, staring into each other from so close that their partner was a simple blur of color.

He knew better after, of course.

After feeling the puff of laughter cool the moisture on his lips, after the tight squeeze of fingers kept the intimacy of the moment from overwhelming him. After he lost himself in a world shaded gold and warm and brown.

Stiles rubbed their noses together again, drawing Derek out of his head.

“Hey,” he said, the hand placed flat on Derek’s chest curling into the cloth of his shirt.

Derek pressed a kiss to the place Stiles’ smiles hid, right at the corner of his mouth. “Hey.”


	15. Chicken Soup for the Werewolf Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Sick Derek?

Derek _ached._ Every muscle throbbed, every bone seemed ready to splinter, crack open. His eyes felt swollen and too thick, his tongue numb and just… he was fucking miserable.

A hand touched his cheek, his forehead, leeching a bit of the blazing heat out of his skin. Derek sighed and rolled his head into the touch. “‘Lau–?”

The fingers spasmed against him before he heard a shaky exhale. “N-no, dude. It’s uh–”

Derek cracked open eyes that were nearly glued together with gunk to see Stiles perched on the edge of his bed, Stiles’ eyes wide and dark with something like sorrow. 

“Just me,” he finally murmured, wincing a little. Then he looked down and to the side, hands moving from Derek to busy themselves with a bowl and spoon. 

Steam wafted from the bowl and smelled… a little tinny, a little greasy, but also kinda _good._ Or maybe that was just Stiles himself.

Derek groaned, eyes too heavy to keep them open. “Her hands were like that,” he found himself murmuring. “Always cold. Said it meant she had a warm heart. Was a lie, though. She was an asshole. You remind me…”

“Oh shit.” The fingers were back again, brushing his forehead, then slipping around the back of his neck. “Hey, big guy,” Stiles said, worry heavy in his voice. “I need you to drink something for me, okay?”

Derek just went lax in Stiles’ grip. “Mmmkay.”

A bit of thin plastic brushed Derek’s lips and he parted them, licking around until he could curl his tongue around the straw and draw it between his dry, cracked lips. The blessedly cool sweetness of the juice made him moan and then snarl, chasing the straw when it was pulled away before he’d gotten more than three good sips in.

“Slowly, dude,” Stiles whispered, his voice a little hoarse. The bed creaked as he shifted his weight, then a cloth and… something heavy… the bowl, Derek recognized as the heat seeped through the cloth protecting his bare skin. “I’m going straight to hell,” Stiles muttered under his breath.

Derek grinned, pointing a finger at where he thought Stiles was. “Heard ya.”

“Oh my _god,_ I can’t handle you like this,” Stiles whimpered.

Eyes cracking open again in alarm, Derek reached out, grabbing Stiles’ wrist in a weak hold. “Don’t leave,” he pleaded, choking up at the thought of being alone. Again.

“I’m not going anywhere, buddy,” Stiles said, quirking a grin at him. “Can’t, really. I’ve got some of this delicious, store brand chicken noodle soup straight from a can to feed you.”

Derek smiled back, warmth flooding him again. “’M your buddy?”

A pained look crossed Stiles’ face before he smiled again, a little wobbly. “Yeah, dude, of course. Hey, open up for me, okay?” 

Obediently opening his mouth, Derek waited for Stiles to maneuver the spoon of broth into his mouth. Of course, most of it spilled all over Derek’s chin and neck, making Stiles curse and move closer.

“Here, wait,” Derek said, shaking his head. He patted his lap. “Will be easier.”

Stiles’ eyes widened before squinching shut. “Heaven, actually. I better get an all-access pass to fucking heaven for this.” He messed with the sheets a little before finally sighing and straddling Derek’s lap. Bracing his weight on Derek’s chest, he dipped the spoon back in the soup and transferred it without spilling a drop.

Derek closed his eyes, sighing happily as he grabbed onto Stiles’ hips and pulled him down onto the cradle of his hips. “You’re so nice,” he breathed, opening up for more soup even as he heard Stiles’ heartbeat skip and a soft curse fill the air.


	16. Playing Footsie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for explicit content: rimming, foot fucking

Derek growled, dragging Stiles under him, his thin back pressed to Derek’s big, hairy chest. He rumbled, nosing at the hair behind Stiles’ ear, teeth scraping the side of his neck, sucking a mark over the prominent knob of bone at the base of it. 

No one inch of skin on the pale expanse of Stiles’ back was left unmarked. Derek rubbed his face over it all, growling a low warning every time Stiles tried to move. When Stiles tucked his arms under himself, Derek reared up with a snarl, one large hand pressing to the center of his back, forcing him back to the sheets with a soft, “oof.”

“Derek,” Stiles whined, voice thin and reedy with need.

Huffing with exasperation, Derek yanked Stiles’ arms up over his shoulders until Stiles wrapped his hands around the lowest rung on the headboard. Then he went back to nosing at the wispy hair that grew under Stiles’ arms, licking long, broad strokes of his tongue there until his scent mixed with Stiles’, thick and heavy. 

Thick and heavy, yes. Derek rolled his hips, sliding his cock along the backside of Stiles’ thighs, dragging his heavy balls along before he reversed course just to bathe Stiles’ skin with the meaty, dark scent of the underside of his sac. 

Not letting up, his chest hair scratched along Stiles’ skin, raising goosebumps and red patches along every part until Derek reached his goal.

Reaching down, he wrapped one large hand around each of Stiles’ thighs, spreading them apart with an almost vicious jerk, until Stiles’ knees were splayed wide, his tiny asshole barely visible between the pert, spread cheeks of his ass. 

Hooking his hands lower, Derek arranged Stiles’ lower legs until the soles of his feet were pressed together, giving Derek a tight space to fuck as he lowered his head and licked along Stiles’ taint. He thrust his chin rudely between Stiles’ ass cheeks at the same time as he hunched his hips, fucking into the clasp of his feet.

His tongue furled and stretched, teeth scraping along delicate, untouched skin as he fought to get deeper, to reach the places that were purely Stiles. The place his scent was thickest.

Stiles sobbed, his thin body shaking the entire bed as he shuddered under Derek, keening and pleading for _more._

In reply, Derek just dug his tongue further, bearded chin scraping against the sensitive skin of Stiles’ taint as he rammed his cock against the delicate curve of Stiles’ arch, leaving a trail of precome to wet the way.


	17. Kiss of Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt: "Another first kiss idea for you. The moment when Derek and Stiles kiss at the alter. Just imagine, soulmate AU where you can tell at the first kiss, and Derek and Stiles are arranged to be married (pack treaty? both are royalty? I dunno) and they don't meet until it's their wedding day. Both think they're giving up their soulmate for the safety of others and their shock and awe when they realize they didn't. Extra bonus if the arranged marriage wasn't initially Sterek and someone switched places"
> 
> Warning: Soul Mates AU, so the consent is situationally dubious.

Derek stared straight ahead, the knot in the pit of his stomach beginning to churn as the ceremony drew to a conclusion. By the time he heard the damning words, “Seal these promises with a kiss of peace,” he felt ready to throw up the meager contents of his stomach.

But he had a duty to his pack, to his _family_ and he would not fail them. So instead of running screaming into the night, he turned and beheld the face of his new… husband. 

His husband who looked and acted just as happy to be thrust into this position as Derek himself. Mishy, Mixey… whatever the fuck his name was… was wearing a faded Captain America t-shirt under a red hoodie with jeans that at least looked like they’d been laundered recently.

He stared back at Derek, his brown eyes narrowed like he wanted to warn Derek not to try anything.

Oh god, was he _straight?!_ Derek shot a half-hysterical look at Laura, whose place he’d volunteered to take in these proceedings so that she wouldn’t have to trap herself in a loveless marriage. Laura looked as bad as he felt, which ironically gave Derek the courage to take a half step toward what’s his name and tip his head down, just a little.

Milky-dew wasn’t really that much shorter than Derek, though he was lean where Derek was thickly muscled.

“Fuck,” his new husband breathed, the warmth of his breath washing over Derek’s face and bringing the sweet scent of strawberry candy to his nose.

Rolling his eyes, Derek reached out and hooked his hand around his neck, dragging him forward into a quick, chaste kiss.

Or. It was meant to be quick and chaste. But instead, the instant Derek’s lips met _Jesus God how do you pronounce this guy’s name?!_ it was like something clicked inside his very soul. Instead of the brief meeting of closed mouths he’d planned, Derek let out a sharp noise and grabbed his husband closer, opening his mouth and sucking the guy’s bottom lip into his mouth, barely waiting for him to open up before he teased his tongue into the warm sweetness of his mouth.

At least he had the satisfaction of knowing he wasn’t the only one so affected; his husband _literally_ climbed him, using the rubber soles of his sneakers to find purchase against Derek’s black trousers until he was high enough to wrap his long legs around Derek’s waist, his fingers grabbing handfuls of Derek’s hair as he ate his way into _Derek’s_ mouth. 

Derek’s own hands grabbed onto his husband’s nicely shaped ass, using that hold to aid him in grinding up against the dick he could feel fattening up in his husband’s jeans.

“Uh, guys?” 

The voice barely registered, was less than a gnat to Derek, who just continued making out with his husband whose name really didn’t matter. They were _married;_ Derek could get away with calling him Mr. Hale, surely?

“Derek, uh…”

Derek didn’t bother removing his hand from his husband’s ass, just continued kneading it at the same time as he flipped off his sister for trying to interrupt the single greatest experience of his life.

“ _Stiles!_ ” That voice, sharp with authority and a little bit of shock, made his husband break the kiss and look around wildly, his eyes wide and brown and _beautiful._

“What’s a Stiles?” Derek murmured, nibbling on his husband’s chin even as he had the brilliant idea to shove his hand into the back of his husband’s jeans.

“Ung, oh god,” his husband groaned, rocking down against Derek one more time before unwrapping his legs with a sound that was more a sob than anything else. 

“Seriously, Stiles,” the tone of irritation in that feminine voice made Derek turn to see a red head standing with her arms crossed, glaring at his husband. Stepping between them, Derek snarled at her, only to get flicked on the nose by his own damn sister.

“What’s a Stiles?” Laura asked while Derek rubbed his nose, offended.

“Me,” his husband said, wrapping one arm around Derek’s waist, his fingers sneaking under Derek’s shirt to stroke along his side.

“You?” Derek asked, and then leaned down to test the give of his husband’s neck with the blunt edge of his teeth.

“Hnnngh, yeah. I, uh. Oh god, dude, we need a bed and a three week honeymoon stat.”

The buzzing gnat from earlier – oh, the True Alpha, McCall – was telling Laura, “Yeah, if you wanna take a crack at pronouncing his name, feel free. We just call him Stiles.”

“Mmmm,” Derek murmured, sucking _Stiles’_ earlobe into his mouth. “Why so many people?” 

“If you don’t wanna see my pasty ass, you might wanna leave,” Stiles raised his voice to announce before he climbed Derek again.

Feet shuffling rapidly through the leaves reached Derek’s ears even as a third heartbeat stayed behind. Lifting his head with a growl, he turned glowing blue eyes on… Erica. Of course. 

“What?” She smirked, feigning innocence. “He said if we _don’t_ want to see–”

Laura’s Alpha voice calling her name made Erica pout and turn away, stomping off.

“Eventually I’m gonna want to know what the hell is happening to us,” Stiles muttered around his own mouthful of Derek’s throat. “But right now I just want to consummate this marriage.”

Derek groaned and lowered them both to the forest floor.


	18. Fingers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings

Derek splayed out on the couch, half-watching whatever show Stiles had picked from the Netflix queue. He wasn’t too invested in it, wouldn’t let himself be because Stiles had accepted a call from his dad a few minutes into it, which meant they’d be skipping back basically to the beginning again. 

So Derek laid his head back, relaxing into the lull of the background noise of Stiles’ hums and occasional interjections into whatever conversation he was having with the Sheriff. It wasn’t anything important; Stiles’ heart was steady and he was almost as boneless as Derek. 

Derek was damn near asleep when he felt something tickle against his middle finger. Slitting one eye open, he looked down to see that one of Stiles’ long fingers was lazily tracing along the fine dusting of hair. Raising an eyebrow in question, Derek turned his head to look at Stiles, who was still sitting there with his phone pressed to his ear, his eyes sort of glazed in that faraway look that told Derek his mind was a million miles away. 

“Peirogies,” Stiles mumbled, his finger sliding down to run lightly up and back along the sensitive skin between Derek’s fingers. 

It wasn’t intentional. It was just a mindless thing, no more to read into it than a doodle on the back of an envelope. 

But Derek _wasn’t_ an envelope. The mindless doodling was taking place on his skin, on areas that hadn’t been touched by another person in so long, Derek couldn’t honestly remember _who_ might have been the last person to stroke along the lines of the middle joint in his pinky finger. 

So instead of jerking his hand away, instead of coughing or doing anything else to draw Stiles’ attention to this _thing,_ Derek forced himself to relax. And then… and then he realized he didn’t really have to do much to convince himself he was safe from this touch. 

Because he already knew it. He knew he was safe, that the fingers touching him would always touch with care and – as long as there was no immediate threat – kindness. So Derek just watched, his own eyes going a little hazy as his eyes followed the inconsistent pattern. 

And then… Stiles said a cheery goodbye and tossed his phone down, snapping back to himself and the moment as the outside distraction of his father went away. When he did, he went stiff, still like a frightened animal in the face of a predator. 

Before he could snatch his hand away, before he could laugh and make excuses or – fuck – apologies, Derek flipped his own hand around, curling his fingers down over Stiles’. 

They both sat there, utterly still, Stiles’ gaze locked on their joined hands, his heart racing, while Derek stared at _him._

When a breathless minute had passed, Derek stopped the show and restarted it from the beginning, laying the remote alongside his thigh. “We missed too much already,” he muttered. 

Stiles looked up then, his eyes wide and somehow soft before his lips curled up. “Yeah,” he whispered. “We did.” And then he turned back to the television, his thumb curling under to stroke along Derek’s clenched fingers until he relaxed his tight grip enough for their fingers to naturally slip between each other. 


	19. Gift for Inell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warning (unless you need a warning for massive amounts of fluff)

Stiles spun around, his voice warbling through notes he should _never_ attempt as he sang along with some old school Whitney Houston.

“Ohhh, I wanna dance with somebody! I wanna feel the heat with somebodyyyy, yeah, I wanna dance with somebody! With somebody who loves me!!”

As he hit the end of the chorus, he twirled the broom in his hand and dipped it like it was his partner. Coming back up, though, he screamed, throwing the broom at the figure he’d spotted from the corner of his eye. Whirling with his hands raised defensively, he watched as Derek caught the broom one-handed, cocked an eyebrow at it, then set it to the side before he pushed himself off the wall he’d been leaning on.

“What are you–” Stiles started, only to bite off the rest of the question. Not soon enough, though.

Derek smirked and finished for him. “Doing here? Last I checked, it was my name on the deed.”

“Yeah, okay. Go ahead and get it out of your system,” Stiles muttered, rolling his eyes as he tried to edge around Derek to retrieve the broom. 

Only Derek’s arm shot out when he was close enough, wrapping around his waist and tugging him flush against that ridiculous chest. “Okay,” he said, his soft voice so low Stiles had to lean in.

“Okay?” Stiles asked, trying not to react to the feeling of Derek’s arm holding him so tight. 

“You said you wanted to dance with somebody.” Derek’s gaze started out staring into Stiles’ before dipping briefly to his mouth and then darting back up.

Stiles licked his lips nervously. “I mean, I… Whitney?” he offered weakly, gesturing toward where his phone was docked in a speaker.

“Why are _you_ here?” Derek asked, applying a little pressure on Stiles until he started swaying on the spot.

With Derek.

Stiles was doing the time honored clutch and sway with _Derek Hale,_ who, last he’d heard, was in Colorado or something. Scrambling for the wisps of brain matter that weren’t leaking out of his ears, Stiles gulped and blurted out, “Uh. Just… pack meeting? And Liam spilled a pound of Skittles, so…”

“So you were cleaning up?” Derek asked, beginning to hum along with the next song.

“Well, I mean. It’s your place, dude.” Finally, realizing he was just standing there like a limp rag, Stiles carefully lifted his arms, settling his hands on Derek’s shoulders. 

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?” Stiles nearly stumbled as Derek quickly spun them. 

“Thanks for caring. About… my place.”

Stiles stared at him, not sure what was going on here, not exactly, but beginning to get an idea due to how Derek’s arms were both wrapped around him, holding their bodies tight together as he spun them around the large, open loft.

The sun came through the windows, lighting up the spot on the floor they were circling. It cut through Derek’s eyes every time he spun, making them glow, highlighting all the colors that hid in them. His eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks, and his teeth sparkled and it was….

“Am I dreaming?” Stiles murmured.

Derek lifted one hand from around Stiles’ waist – the little whimper that Stiles made in response was only a little embarrassing – and held it up between them. He counted them off, not breaking eye contact as he lowered each finger in turn. “One, two, three, four, five. Are you dreaming?”

“No,” Stiles whispered. Then, jerking his gaze from Derek’s almost hypnotic one, he asked, “What’s happening?”

“You’re dancing with somebody,” Derek murmured, moving his head forward until their cheeks were brushing, his beard scratching against Stiles’ sensitive skin. “Somebody who…” His voice trailed off, but Stiles knew the song. 

Breath freezing in his lungs, he tightened his arms around Derek’s neck. “Somebody who loves me?”

Derek’s beard scratched along Stiles’ cheek again as he nodded, his breath blowing ragged across Stiles’ ear. His arms drew Stiles closer, easily keeping pace with the music as it changed from one song to the next.


	20. Victory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warning

“We did it,” Stiles breathed. Turning, he let out a whoop of pure joy and grabbed Scott up in a huge hug, lifting his friend straight off the ground as he spun him. “We did it!” he yelled, tossing his head back with a laugh as he finally let a struggling Scott down. 

Scott cupped his cheeks with both hands, sharing in his laughter before spinning away to treat Kira to a twirling hug. 

Looking around, Stiles noted the looks of mingled happiness and relief, the lines of stress still standing out on the faces of his friends and packmates and _family_ but less somehow. A hand came down on his shoulder, big and warm and Stiles leaned into it for a moment before twisting around to find Derek standing behind him.

“Hey,” he whispered, feeling how his own eyes crinkled at the corners in happiness. 

Derek’s answering smile was small, intimate. A shy thing that could be chased away with a single misspoken word. It was nothing like the big, toothy, _fake_ thing he’d shown that night all those years ago when “flirting” with Tara.

Which was why Stiles’ stomach fluttered with nerves and a different sort of happiness at seeing this one. 

Overwhelmed with the energy and excitement of the moment, Stiles surged up onto his tip toes, throwing his arms around Derek and pressing their foreheads together.

“We did it!” he murmured again, letting the weight of that statement settle over them both.

“ _You_ did it,” Derek whispered, something like awe in his voice.

Stiles’ smile, already wide, stretched further until his cheeks ached with it. “Damn right I did. What do I get for being a bad ass?”

Derek stared into his eyes for a long moment before his lashes fluttered, his lids swooping down to close over his beautiful eyes. Tilting his head just a little, he arched his neck, pressing his mouth lightly to Stiles’ still-smiling one.

Feeling as though the wind had been knocked out of him, Stiles thumped down off his tip-toes in shock. When Derek’s eyes flared wide, something like fear in their depths, Stiles reacted quickly, tightening his arms around Derek’s neck. 

“Can we try that again when my teeth aren’t all–?” Stiles made a face, exaggerating the spread of his lips until that tiny smile appeared again.

Nodding slowly, Derek dipped his head as Stiles stretched up, their lips meeting in a soft, clinging kiss that was totally worth all the stress and horror of turning off the Nemeton.


	21. Peanut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Cr3v's prompt: "I was thinking of how loving Talia and Derek's father would have used really sweet nicknames on all of them, especially Derek and how after they died, no one ever calls him by that anymore? And I was also imagining how Stiles would somehow find them because Peter and Cora are Stiles' source of Hale History. And drop them into their conversations just to see how Derek would react? And he'd just freeze and frown, confused - then give him the softest and shyest smile imaginable that guts Stiles?"
> 
> No warnings

Derek freezes, and from the corner of his eye, Stiles can see the way the cup Derek _had_ been holding slips through his fingers.

Insides churning with sudden fear, Stiles looks around for whatever threat had shown up, only… nothing’s there. The scene in the loft is the same, if slightly quieter as the rest of the pack go on alert too. Scott’s even got his red eyes out, scanning the darkest corners – not that there are any considering the way the sunlight is blasting through the wall of windows.

Looking back at Derek, Stiles sees the way he’s blushing all the way to the tips of his ears, his eyes a little squinched in the corners like he’s embarrassed. Stiles kneels at the same time as Derek, helping him pick up the ice that had spilled from his thankfully plastic cup.

“Hey, man,” he says, voice as low as he can make it to give Derek at least a semblance of privacy. “You okay?”

Derek stares hard at the floor, a little dip of his chin all the acknowledgement he allows. 

Stiles sighs and just takes his handful of ice to the kitchen, dumping it in the sink before washing his hands… figuratively as well as literally.

If Derek doesn’t want to tell them what's going on with him, Stiles isn’t going to push it.

–

“Peanut,” Stiles breathes, staring at Derek to see the way his mouth curls for a second before his eyes do that painful little flinch. Like he’s feeling the stab of beautifully painful memories all over again. “Hey,” he says, reaching out. He hesitates as his hands get close, and then he pushes through anyway.

Derek isn’t one to invite touch, but this is obviously a time when he _needs_ it.

Sliding his arms around Derek’s broad shoulders, Stiles draws him in close in a Stilinski hug and just holds him for a minute. “I can strike that word out of pack usage, dude, but I can’t guarantee you won’t see a Mr. Peanut commercial on television. So I need to know why it hurts so bad, okay?”

Derek shudders against him before relaxing into the embrace, burying his face in Stiles’ neck and heaving deep breaths. “It’s fine,” he finally says, causing Stiles to snort.

“Obviously not.”

“No, it’s just… That’s what my parents called me. So when Lydia said it the other day…”

Stiles goes a little numb all over. Because he knows that feeling, understands it down deep in his soul. “I’ll tell them to stop,” he says, just to feel Derek shake his head against him, scruff scraping in a way that’s kind of… Well. He just won’t think about how that feels right now.

“No,” Derek says, interrupting Stiles’ mini crisis. “I… it’s kind of nice. Remembering the good things.”

Stiles nods, understanding that too. And then he just holds Derek a little longer because it occurs to him that no one ever does.

–

Stiles reaches for a chip, bumping Derek’s hip with his own. “Quit hogging the food… _Peanut.”_

Derek goes still, then looks up at Stiles through his lashes, a tiny little smile curving his lips.

If Stiles’ heart melts a little at that look, well. No one can prove a thing.


	22. Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For PrettyInSoulPunk, who asked for love confessions. 
> 
> No warnings.

Derek didn’t open his eyes, didn’t dare move in any way. Hair tickled his nose and the chest he had his arm curled over moved with the steady up and down of sleep. Even the slightly jagged heartbeat was slower, soothing.

Going through the motions of waking up would ruin this. This soft, quiet moment would devolve into awkward silence and skittering glances at the clock. A quirked half-grin as meaningless words about catching him later tumbled off a too-smooth tongue.

For all that Derek had enjoyed the night before, the odd intensity of fingers threaded through his own and Stiles’ dark eyes staring into his own from inches away as soft words fell from his wide, mobile mouth, Derek didn’t think he could survive the morning after. He didn’t want to become a memory to escape from.

He didn’t want to be just another fond regret.

Stiles’ breathing changed, his chest hitching under Derek’s arm – because no matter what, the morning always came. But instead of his body jerking or stiffening against Derek’s, Stiles curled _closer_ , his fingers tracing a light pattern over the thin skin on the back of Derek’s hand.

He woke smelling of contentment, which gave Derek the courage to open his eyes.

And _then_ Stiles froze, a sheepish smile curving his lips. “Hey, sorry,” he whispered, his voice husky-hoarse with the lingering effects of sleep. “Did I wake you?” His eyes, so close Derek could make out the striations of color in the irises, were lighter in the daylight, bright with an inner warmth that Derek couldn’t quite understand.

“No,” he finally said, relaxing just a bit as Stiles continued to not run away. “You didn’t wake me.”

Stiles pouted, though the way his lips were twitching at the corners, his eyes crinkled with laughter, gave him away. “You were awake and _not_ taking the opportunity to watch me sleep?” Lifting his hand, Stiles booped the tip of Derek’s nose. “Is this personal growth, or am I just losing my appeal?”

Finally, finally, the weight of anxiety that had been crushing Derek since he woke, began to let up. Not only was Stiles not stumbling over himself to leave, but he was also not acting shifty and cold. He was just … _Stiles._

Stiles with his little smiles that turned warm and fond when he looked at Derek. With his fingers that had been tracing patterns along Derek’s skin for a year or more. With his random phone calls and texts and emails. With his impossible to deny dates and sly innuendo. 

And maybe Derek should have had more faith in this, but he didn’t have a great track record with… anything, really. But he let himself smile – for Stiles – and say, “Maybe I was trying not to wake _you._ ”

“Yeah? You wanted to spoon me a little longer, big guy?” Stiles fluttered his lashes, a bit of fuzz clinging to one of them adding to the utter ridiculousness of a twenty three year old man trying to pull that kind of coquettishness off.

“As long as you’ll let me,” Derek murmured, gently smoothing the fuzz away with his thumb.

Stiles’ breath hitched, his little smile wobbling before blooming into something wide and happy. 

Maybe Derek hadn’t been the only one afraid of the morning after.

“So, forever, then?”

Moving his head forward on the pillow, Derek pressed a kiss to the mole by Stiles’ mouth. “That’s a good start.”


	23. Surprise Visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Bistiles. 
> 
> Warnings for: blowjobs, anal fingering, nsfw (dubious/unwritten consent bc Derek wakes Stiles up with a blowjob but they are in a very established relationship, so. Assume that they've discussed this before and Stiles is EXTREMELY A-OKAY with being woken in such a way.)

The problem with going to college five hours away from Beacon Hills and his pack and his dad and his… Derek, was that when his birthday rolled around – April 6th, for those who want to send a card with cash* – was that it was the middle of the semester AND the middle of the week, so no comfort of home.

Which would be why Stiles got black-out drunk on the night of the 5th – okay, not really, but he got drunk enough to booty call his DAD instead of Derek, the horror, before drinking a gallon of water and passing out.

He had to wake up twice to piss, but the promise of a painfree morning was worth the interrupted sleep.

That amount of alcohol did have one major side-effect, as he was finding out, though. It made him have really, seriously porny dreams. Dreams where something hot and wet was sliding down over his cock, the suction and the tongue flutter so fucking perfect that he clung with all ten fingers and toes to the dream, desperate not to wake up before he could…

The dream shattered the moment the finger touched his hole, though, because for one thing, _it was ball-freezing cold,_ and for another no one, not even really talented dream lovers, got to touch him there.

His ass belonged to Derek, when Derek’s ass wasn’t belonging to him.

So he came awake with a gasp, jack knifing up in bed and looking down to see Derek, that asshole, grinning up at him around his mouthful of Stiles’ cock. 

With a long, brain-melting suck, Derek pulled his mouth off Stiles – there was whimpering and some unmanly pleas not to stop – and said, “Happy birthday, Stiles. Your dad asks that you change one of our names in your phone so he never has to hear you blubber about my dick and your ass again.”

“Oh my god, do you _want_ to kill my boner? Stop talking about my dad and–” Stiles dropped his head back to the pillow, groaning as Derek sucked him back down, all the way until the head of his dick was lodged in the tight, fluttering confines of Derek’s throat.

And then Derek began to fuck Stiles with his finger and – well, okay, it was _rude_ to prolong a blowjob, right? So really, Stiles coming in under a minute was just him having _manners_ and had nothing to do with stamina.

No matter how Derek laughed at him after.

Honestly, he was just making sure they had time for a second round before his first class.

Shut up, Derek.

(* _please send cash, he’s a broke-ass college student and gas ain’t cheap. Nor is the duct tape to repair his radiator._ )


	24. Cut Out the Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Stamp ficlet for [Ignite Your Bones](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6090169) written for PrettyInSoulPunk.
> 
> Warning: mention of past trauma

Derek watched Stiles, watched how he moved – more fluidly now, less as if he were holding himself tight inside his own skin. He would never again be the flailing, gangly teenager he’d once been, but Derek had stopped wishing for that months ago. 

Stiles was no longer a teenager, after all. Even with all the horror he’d experienced stripped away, there was no reason to expect to look at him and see one.

But the mountains had worked their magic on him, just as they had on Derek. He was easier now. Relaxed. Not cataloging their surroundings or the people in town with the same sharp-eyed focus.

There was only one thing that still weighed on Derek. 

Reaching up, Derek wiped a smear of chocolate from Stiles’ upper lip, meaning to do it quickly, but his thumb lingered, slid along the shiny line of the scar that started just below the edge of Stiles’ nostril and cut sharply down toward his chin, neatly splitting those pretty pink lips. “It wasn’t a claw,” he murmured, almost to himself, then dropped his hand and backed away, an apology on his lips when Stiles drew in a sharp breath.

Stiles didn’t let him say anything, though, his eyes flickering to the floor as his hand came up, shielding his mouth from view. “It was a sword.” He met Derek’s eyes again, something like resignation and a dull acceptance in his expression, misery in his scent.

“Stiles.” Derek reached up, took back one of the steps, erasing the distance between them, but the damage was done.

“A katana.” Stiles wiped the back of his hand across his mouth with a grimace. “After… _they_ came to town to create the Chimeras, they did something to Kira.”

Derek went still, every sense alert. Stiles never spoke of _them_ by name, too afraid that if Derek knew what they were, it would summon them. It always made him suspect demons, but when he’d said that, Stiles had just laughed, a bitter, broken sound.

“Before, she had a sort of symbiotic relationship with her kitsune spirit. After… it would take over. Possess her.” Stiles rubbed his finger over the scar, then ducked his head, shoving his hand into his back pocket. “One time, it saw me. Thought I was…” He swallowed, the sound heavy in the silence of the room.

“Stiles, you don’t have to–”

“But her mom was there,” Stiles said, his voice harsh as he interrupted. “She heard it say that it would cut the lies from my mouth. She… she stopped it in time. But the katana came down anyway. Objects in motion…” Stiles shrugged.

Derek didn’t know what to say. What _was_ there to do but stand and stare, eyebrows furrowed, as Stiles’ shoulders inched up.

“So that’s it, huh?” Stiles finally asked, sounding so very weary.

“What?”

“That’s why you won’t touch me?” When Derek just stared at him in shock, Stiles huffed out a sharp snort. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. Like I’m… something to keep. But you never _touch me._ Is it because I’m–”

Derek didn’t let him finish that question, just stepped forward, hands already reaching up to cup Stiles’ face, thumbs glancing across his sharp cheekbones – and leaving a trace of chocolate on one. He swallowed whatever idiocy Stiles had planned to follow that up with, his tongue tracing Stiles’ lips and delving inside when they parted.

When they finally paused for breath, Derek whispered against Stiles’ cheek. “I was afraid to touch you. At first because it seemed like you might shatter. And then because… I knew if I touched you even once, I’d never stop.”


	25. Never Let You Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Imdistractingyou, who requested Sterek jawline kisses.

“I thought this place was scary when the kanima was running around. What kind of horror is Beacon Hills facing now that someone weighed the pros and cons and still gave _you_ a gun?”

The lightly teasing voice makes Stiles go still, his hands beginning to shake as something wild and overwhelming pierces his heart. Looking up, he drops the pen he’d been using to fill out reports and…

And then he loses a bit of time or something because he doesn’t remember getting up from his seat or going around the big counter – or, judging by the way the various pamphlets they keep in tidy boxes are scattered across the counter and fluttering to floor, going _over_ the counter. But suddenly he’s on the other side, his arms wrapped tight around Derek Hale.

Derek Hale who left this town nearly eight years before but is _here_ now, whole and alive and _fucking here._

“Hey,” Stiles finally says when the hug has dragged on kind of an awkwardly long time, his voice a little weak and definitely shakier than his hands. 

Not that Stiles cares how long he’s been crushing Derek against him. He’s pretty sure it’s gonna take him about eight _more_ years to convince himself to let go. So he just buries his nose a bit deeper in the longish hair behind Derek’s ear and breathes him in.

“Hey,” Derek says back, and Stiles doesn’t think he’s imagining that Derek sounds just as shaken as Stiles is feeling.

“Uh, Stiles?” comes another voice and Stiles turns his head just enough to see his dad standing in the doorway of his office, cup of coffee in hand as he watches them, his mouth curved in a sort of bittersweet smile. “Why don’t you let Derek go and the two of you can go catch up over lunch.”

It’s kind of clearly an order – from his boss as much as his dad – but Stiles’ arms spasm at the idea of letting go. Because no, it hasn’t been long enough and if he lets go now, Derek may disappear again and–

Every thought, every knee-jerk reaction going on in his head shatters when he feels Derek turn his head slightly, feels the scrape of close cropped stubble over his cheek just before there’s the faint sensation of lips pressing against his jaw before Derek pulls back.

Or, you know, tries to. 

Stiles, even shocked stupid by that unexpected – but oh-so-welcome – little kiss, isn’t quite convinced to let go.

“It’s okay,” Derek murmurs, and they’re so close, Stiles could literally just tilt his head a fraction and be kissing him. 

It’s tempting. Even the thought of the official reprimand he’d probably have to face for PDA in uniform doesn’t really faze him.

The sound of Derek’s stomach growling, however…

Stiles’ arms loosen in surprise and he pulls back to look down. 

Derek – who hasn’t exactly removed his hands from Stiles yet either, it should be pointed out – shrugs sheepishly, his cheeks going pink. “I drove straight through when I got the invitation, so… I’m a bit hungry.”

Stiles nods, going a little cold all over as he realizes that the only reason Derek’s here is for Scott’s wedding. “Yeah,” he says, finally letting his arms fall back to his sides as he steps backward. “Let me just get my wallet and–”

A twenty slapping down on the counter cuts him off and Stiles looks to see his dad still smiling at him.

“It’s on me, boys. Go eat. I’ll catch you later, Derek. It’s good to see you…” the sheriff’s voice trails off awkwardly before he finally finishes with a, “back. It’s good to see you back.”

“It’s good to be _home,_ sir,” Derek says, and no one can miss the emphasis he puts on that word. “It’s been too long.”

Stiles walks out of the building in something like a fog. “So,” he finally says, “where–”

“Here,” Derek says in a burst of sound, interrupting Stiles’ inquiry about where he wants to go to lunch.

Confused, Stiles looks around. “Huh?”

“I bought a house. Here. It’s where I live. Now.” Derek hooks a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing north on Maple.

Stiles swallows, that piercing feeling overwhelming him again. He thinks it might actually be _joy._ “You’re… moving back,” he says. “To Beacon Hills.”

Derek’s chin has barely dipped in a nod before Stiles is crushing him in another fierce hug. 

Screw protocol and regulations about PDA, screw growling stomachs and time constraints. There are more important things right now.

Like pressing his own kiss to the curve of _Derek’s_ jaw.


	26. Inevitable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A romantic kiss for anon.
> 
> No warnings.

Derek looked up when the loft door rolled open, waved Stiles in, then went back to his conversation with Jordan. 

He noticed when Stiles sat down next to him, of course, because Stiles was impossible to _not_ notice, but since Stiles leapt immediately into a conversation with Lydia, Derek put it out of his mind until Jordan turned to say something to Mason, who was sifting through Peter’s old bestiary. 

“Hey,” Stiles said, fingers light on Derek’s knee, seeking his attention but not fighting for it. 

Derek raised an eyebrow at him, waiting to be brought into Stiles’ discussion with Lydia which… huh. He hadn’t noticed Lydia leaving to get a drink from the kitchen and, judging by the feminine voices coming from that direction, getting sidetracked by Kira. “Hey, yourself,” he finally said in response, earning himself a small quirk of Stiles’ lips.

“I sort of came over here to ask you something and forgot that today’s Book Club Tuesday.”

Derek felt the corners of his eyes crinkling as a smile spread across his face. “I see how it is; you graduate university and can’t be bothered to adhere to societal standards like calendars or _shaving_.”

Wrinkling his nose, Stiles scrubbed a hand over the scraggly mess on his chin. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. That’s actually why I’m here, though?”

Derek raised both eyebrows at that. He knew Stiles didn’t need a job; he was just waiting until the Police Academy’s next session to start. He already had a guaranteed spot for him in the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s department. “What’s up?”

Stiles drew a deep breath, his pulse taking off a little as he turned toward Derek, hands rubbing up and down his thighs. “I should have shaved,” he muttered, then raised his eyes to Derek’s… and promptly rolled them. “Okay, this is stupid. I’m twenty three, a college graduate, and I’m still getting butterflies over asking a cute boy to go on a date with me.”

When Derek instantly looked around, Stiles flicked him in his forehead and said, “You. I’m getting butterflies over asking _you_ to date me.”

Derek sagged backward into the sofa, world a bit tilted on its axis as Stiles sat there, nerves wafting off of him. And the thing was, Stiles’ nerves set off an army of butterflies in _Derek’s_ stomach and he was _thirty._ With a soft laugh at them both, Derek sat up straight and nodded. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, that’s–”

“Wait!” 

Derek blinked and looked up at that screeched word, coming from… “Scott? Are you okay?”

But Scott was obviously not okay, his face red as he gestured wildly between Stiles and Derek. A variety of noises came from his throat before he finally spit out, “Just like that?!”

Derek slanted a questioning glance at Stiles, who shrugged, smelling of confusion.

“Eight years,” Scott ranted, starting to pace. “Eight years we’ve waited for you two to figure this thing out between you, and … that’s _it?_ ”

“What’s he talking about?” Stiles muttered out of the side of his mouth.

“No idea,” Derek sighed, relaxing back into the comfort of his sofa and shifting until his arm was spread along the back, behind Stiles.

“No _angst,_ no miscommunication, no will they-won’t they? Just ‘will you go out with me,’ ‘yeah sure why not?’” Scott flailed his hands again. “There wasn’t even any wall pushing. No threats! No jealousy because of Stiles smelling like other people.”

“Okay…?” Stiles eased himself to his feet, approaching Scott cautiously. “You okay, buddy?”

“I just,” Scott half-sobbed. “There wasn’t even angry kissing.”

At a look from Stiles, Kira came in and gently led her husband away, murmuring soothingly to him the whole time.

“He’s right, though,” Lydia said into the silence. “I always expected this to be way more dramatic.”

“Well, I mean,” Stiles shrugged, looking to Derek for help.

“We’re adults,” Derek offered lamely.

“Not gonna lie,” Jordan muttered, too low for human hearing, “I kinda was looking forward to the angry kisses.”

Derek rolled his eyes, then went up to Stiles and asked, “May I?”

Still confused, Stiles just blinked at him.

Derek smiled, the happiness that had been sidetracked by Scott’s outburst finally having an opportunity to bubble through him. “May I have this kiss?” he clarified.

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed, moving in when Derek tilted his head. 

With most of their pack surrounding them and looking on, Derek pressed his mouth to Stiles’, sighing happily into a kiss that had been coming on like a slow, steady storm for the past eight years.

It spoke of the hardships and loneliness, the joy and friendship that had built until it spilled over into an emotion too strong for simple friendship to contain. Something far too inevitable for there to be any question of what it was building toward.

When they finally parted, Derek noticed that more than one person had to wipe away tears. And if Stiles was one of them, no one mentioned it.


	27. Safe and Warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the-calvaree who wanted forehead kisses.
> 
> No warnings.

The house is quiet but for the soft snores coming from Stiles, who is mashed up against Derek’s side, drooling on his arm with his neck twisted in ways that he won’t enjoy in the morning. The only light comes from the Netflix homescreen that’s been showing since the movie ended several minutes ago.

It’s time to go home, Derek knows it is, but he’s comfortable and a little sleepy himself. He’s safe and warm here at Casa Stilinski and knows if he just laid his head back, he’d fall asleep as well.

Instead, Derek stretches his fingers out for the remote, extending his claws for that last little inch to help him grip it without waking Stiles, who has a hard enough time sleeping these days without being nudged awake just so Derek can turn off the television.

When the room finally goes dark, Derek waits a few seconds for his eyes to adjust before carefully sliding away from Stiles and easing him down to lay stretched out on the couch. The couch is deep and extra long, so he can roll around a little, stretch those long legs all the way out if he needs to. Derek drags the blanket off the back, an old crocheted thing that was probably made by Stiles’ mom if the care he shows around it is anything to go by. He spreads the blanket over Stiles, tucking it around his feet and over his shoulders.

Derek studies Stiles for a long minute. The streetlight out front illuminates the room enough that if he wakes, he shouldn’t be disoriented, but Derek waits anyway. Listens to the steady, slow cadence of Stiles’ breathing and the faster tick of his heart. 

A sleeping Stiles is perfectly still, his entire body relaxed in ways it never is when he’s awake. Even his fingers – always twitching and restless, reaching for things he can’t have and shouldn’t want – lay still upon the cushion, curled by his face, his pinky almost brushing the full, pink mouth that gapes a little as he breathes through it.

Shaking his head, Derek leans down and presses a soft kiss to Stiles’ forehead, hoping in some childish corner of his heart that the kiss spreads good dreams all the way to Stiles’ too-active brain. 

Feeling a bit foolish, Derek backs away quickly, grabbing his jacket off the arm of the couch before he turns and tip toes toward the door. He barely has it open when he hears a rustling behind him.

“I can’t believe you just Mom’d me,” Stiles grumbles, voice raspy with sleep. “Where’re you going?” The last part of the question is nearly lost to a huge yawn. “’S three thirty, dude. Just stay here.”

Derek fights himself for a moment before shutting the door again then twisting the deadbolt. Walking back to the couch, he sees that Stiles is sleepily raising his arms.

“Carry me to my bed, and I’ll let you spoon me.”

Snorting, Derek lifts him, only to throw Stiles over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, swatting his ass gently. “What if I want to be the little spoon?”

“Ohh, even better,” Stiles says, voice sounding a bit nasally due to his position as Derek quickly mounts the stairs. “I’ll be your jet pack!”

In seconds, he’s tossing Stiles on top of the bed that’s barely big enough for both of them, then crawling in after him. Once he’s arranged on his side, facing the door, he feels Stiles wrap himself spider-monkey like along his back. There comes the soft press of lips against the back of his neck, then Stiles’ warm breath.

“Sweet dreams,” he hears faintly just before he closes his eyes and lets himself relax, safe and warm.


	28. Assholes In Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a lovely anon who requested jawline kisses.
> 
> Warnings for hurt Stiles and blood/canon-typical violence.

Derek grabbed Stiles up into his arms and _ran_ – not as if _his_ life depended on it, but as if Stiles’ did. Because… because the bullet wound in Stiles’ side and his labored breathing said it _did._

With every long stride, Stiles’ body jolted in his arms, little whimpers of pain bursting from him. And with every whimper, Derek breathed an apology into Stiles’ ear. 

But he didn’t slow down.

Whimpers were good. Whimpers meant Stiles was still conscious. It was the silence that would follow that Derek was trying to outrun.

Headlights blazed in front of him – he’d made it to the road – and the truck screeched to a halt, the driver jumping out almost before it was fully stopped. It was a woman, middle-aged and weathered, the truck looked like it got a lot of rough use.

“Please,” Derek gasped, heart in his throat. “We were camping and–”

“Goddamn hunters,” the woman swore, then jerked her chin at the truck bed. “Get back there. He’ll be more comfortable stretched out. ’S he human or–?” At Derek’s shocked look, she hissed in irritation. “We don’t have time for explanations, boy. I just need to know whether to take him to a hospital or an emissary.”

“Hospital,” Stiles said, his arms tightening around Derek. “It’s okay, D. She’s gonna help.”

Derek hesitated a long minute until he felt Stiles tighten his hold even further, tugging Derek’s head down toward his. Pale lips glanced across his jaw in a sloppy kiss before Stiles whispered, “It’s okay,” again.

Derek nodded, then carefully climbed into the truck bed, arranging Stiles into the most comfortable position he could. “You’re gonna be okay,” he whispered, ducking his head into Stiles’ neck and breathing him in.

“I know,” Stiles said, so matter of fact it made Derek freeze. “You don’t think I’d let a hunter take another person from you, do you?”

Derek lifted his head, blinking down at Stiles through watery eyes as the truck sped down the highway. “I love you.” 

But of course, all he got in response to his confession was a snort and an eyeroll. “Yeah, okay. Tell me again when I’m not in mortal peril and maybe I’ll – _sonovabitch!_ – believe it.”

Derek’s eyes flared as they hit _another_ pot hole, making Stiles dig his nails into Derek’s arm. He went quiet, jaw working as he held Stiles tightly to him, _willing_ his blood to stay in his body.

But then Stiles wriggled against him, his bony chin prodding at Derek’s shoulder. “Not saying you can’t try to convince me,” he muttered.

“Huh?” Derek braced them as the truck slowed to take a turn.

“Tell me I’m pretty, Derek.” Stiles pouted up at him, lower lip jutting out.

“You look like shit.” When Stiles tried to kick him in retaliation for that, Derek found himself fighting back a laugh. Only Stiles could make him _laugh_ while the idiot was suffering from a gunshot wound. “Hey, my mom didn’t raise a liar.”

“No, she raised an asshole. I’m injured here!”

“Eh.” Derek shrugged, shifting Stiles in his arms as the bright lights of a hospital appeared in the distance. “Rub some dirt in it. You’ll be fine.”

“Oh my _god,_ ” Stiles groaned, laughing helplessly. Then he twisted around a bit, sucking in a harsh breath as that movement aggravated his injury. When his face was no longer as pinched, he pressed another kiss to the curve of Derek’s jaw. “I love you too, you know.”

Derek snuggled Stiles closer, brushing his lips over Stiles’ forehead. “Yeah, yeah. That’s probably the blood loss talking.”

“Asshole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And also, because I'm stupidly proud of this fest, I'm going to take this opportunity to remind everyone that author/artist signups are ongoing at Teen Wolf Glompfest: http://tw-glompfest.tumblr.com . If you are NOT an author/artist in TW Fandom, prompt submissions will open on March 19th! Stay tuned. :D


	29. All or Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everylineeverystory who asked for stomach kisses and hipbone kisses in the kiss meme a million years ago (and then I didn't tag it properly, so I lost it *sigh*)

There’s a strange car parked outside Scott’s house when Stiles gets there. He doesn’t think anything of it, just opens the door to go inside and see what all Scott’s thinly-veiled giddiness had been about.

He makes it as far as the living room before he stops cold, shakes his head, and bolts back out of the house. 

“Nope,” he’s muttering to himself as he fishes for his keys with badly shaking hands. “Nope nope nope.” 

“Stiles?”

Stiles just _stops,_ keys falling from his nerveless fingers as his throat closes up, the tears in his eyes making the bright summer day dance around him. 

It should be raining for this, dark and grim. But no; it’s a picture perfect day.

“Stiles, please–”

“I watched you _die_ ,” he manages to choke out. “No, I didn’t even get that much. I had to _leave you to die._ ” He brings his arm up, using the bend of his elbow to hide his face from view. “And then you were alive. We were all alive. _But you left._ And you didn’t c-c-c–” He can’t get the word out, his jaw clenched to hold back the sobs that are already shaking his shoulders.

Not that he can hide anything. His face is drenched in tears, his nose is starting to drip and … well. Apparently he was overdue for a break down. 

Excellent timing, as usual.

“I’m sorry,” he hears, and it’s soft, a little gruff, thick like he’s not the only one dealing with an overabundance of emotions. “Stiles, please. I’m sorry. I just–”

Stiles turns around then, drops his arm, let’s Derek _see_ what he did. “Even your fucking girlfriend kept in touch!” It’s barely understandable, because for all that Stiles is half-shouting, his ugly crying – and good lord, it really is: snot and tears and wobbling lips and _what the fuck_ – has made it so he can barely talk around the knot in his throat. “But not you, oh no! Forget about the people who fucking lo– care about you. You couldn’t be bothered to call or text or hire a fucking skywriter to let us know you were–”

Derek stumbles to his knees, arms wrapping tight around Stiles’ hips as he presses his face to Stiles’ stomach, effectively cutting off his garbled rant. Derek breathes a litany of apologies into Stiles’ tshirt, the material getting a little damp. “I…” He rolls his forehead over Stiles’ abs, shoulders hunching as he squeezes Stiles to him. “I couldn’t stay. Not after…”

“Is it because I went for Scott?” Stiles’ voice is small, barely there. It’s the question he’s been asking for more than a year.

“No. No! I had to leave because…” Derek looks up then, making eye contact, brushing a faint kiss over Stiles’ belly sort of absently.

It has the impact of a gun shot.

“Derek?”

“Braeden’s not my girlfriend,” he says, and the asshole has the fucking gall to look beautiful with his tear-spiky lashes and faintly-reddened eyes. “She’s a good friend and she helped me work through some things. Helped me get Peter out of Eichen and smuggled down to Argentina.” He drops another kiss on the bare strip of skin over Stiles’ hipbone, and that’s as much as Stiles can take.

“If you need someone,” he says, going to his own knees and wrapping himself around Derek, “to help you with shit, you call me. That’s my job, dammit.”

“My feelings for you were some of the ‘shit’ she helped me deal with. I had some issues being in love with an underaged, high-school boy.”

“That’s why you waited ‘til after graduation to come back?” Stiles asks, then sighs, because he’s in love with an idiot. “You’re not Kate. You never _could be_.”

They hold each other for a while, grass staining their knees. 

“Why didn’t you call?” Stiles finally mumbles into Derek’s ear when he’s calmed enough to speak coherently.

“Because.” Derek sighs and shifts them both until they’re laying on the sunburned grass of Scott’s front yard, Stiles cradled in his arms, head on his chest listening to the solid, steady rhythm of Derek’s heart – and maybe wiping his face on Derek’s shirt a little.

“I knew,” Derek says, fingers dragging through Stiles’ hair, “that I had to go cold turkey. You’re sort of an all-or-nothing option for me. If I had called you, even just heard your voice in the background, I wouldn’t have been able to stay away. And I – I couldn’t do that. As soon as I realized I was in love with you, I had to leave. Stay away until you could accept or reject me. In all ways. Because the only way I’ll ever leave again is if you send me away.”

Stiles’ shudder at the very thought of that seems to reassure Derek, who wraps his arms around him and just holds him until they’re both sticky with sweat and a little sunburned themselves. It’s a small price to pay to have Derek here. 

Where he belongs.


	30. Ears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anon, who requested a ficlet based on my headcanon that wolfie ears are erogenous zones.
> 
> (Remember the Ferengi from ST:TNG? It is my headcanon that Gene Roddenberry was in the know and their ears being erogenous zones was an in joke between him and his wolf friends.) 

Derek was laying in a patch of sunlight that spilled perfectly over the throw rug, drowsing a little as the rest of the pack held their conversations around him. It was mostly strategy stuff as Parrish gave each of the other members pointers on their sparring form, but since none of it applied to him, Derek didn’t feel bad about closing his eyes and drifting. 

He didn’t usually spend much time in his beta form, preferring to either fully shift or just stay human, but he found himself enjoying it. His hands relaxed, claws turned under to keep from accidentally cutting any humans who might step on them – with Kira and Stiles both in the loft, it was bound to happen. 

He was just going completely boneless, slipping from “drowse” into “sleep” when something brushed against the tip of his ear. He twitched his ear, head jerking a little as he startled half-awake, not enough to open his eyes, but enough to once more become aware of his other senses. 

Whatever had brushed against him went away, though, so Derek settled again. This time, though, he wasn’t quite gone enough not to hear Stiles’ low murmur of, “How do you not just pet him all day? They’re so cute!” 

“I honestly spend more time petting his mutton chops.” That was Kira’s voice, soon joined by Lydia’s amused whisper. 

“Does no one want to touch their disappearing eyebrows?” 

“No!” Stiles hissed, letting out a puff of laughter. “It’s too weird!” There was some more quiet giggling before Stiles’ scent got a little stronger and… the touch was back. A gentle stroke of fingertips over the very point of his ear. 

Pleasure zinged through Derek, and if he hadn’t already been perfectly still on the floor, he would have become so. His heart rate took off, his breath got locked in his lungs as Stiles got braver. Those long fingers traced the whole thing before going back to playing idly over the tip. 

“It’s so soft,” he whispered as Derek’s dick began to fill up in his jeans. 

Derek let out a slow breath, taking a moment to be thankful that the way he was twisted around on the rug shielded his groin from view. He slitted his eyes open, the room coming into grainy focus as his blue wolf eyes burned bright. 

He considered his options, even as Stiles’ fingers got more and more adventurous. He could “wake up” and snap at Stiles to stop or he could continue to pretend to sleep and enjoy this moment of touch – however inappropriate it might be. 

Derek… For all that he yearned to receive the seemingly unconscious touches that the rest of the pack shared amongst themselves freely, couldn’t seem to bring himself to control his resting bitch face enough to encourage them. If this was the only way to get his touches, he’d take it. 

And then jerk off in the bathroom later while reliving every last second.


	31. Gasp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings

Derek reached a hand up, noting in some corner of his brain how badly it was trembling but not able to care because Stiles was staring back at him, wide brown eyes luminous in the bright afternoon light. When Derek’s fingers touched Stiles’ cheek, they both sighed. Gently, so gently, Derek drew his fingers over Stiles’ skin, feeling the stubble he couldn’t yet see, the smooth bumps of the moles scattered across Stiles’ cheek and jaw.

Hooking his fingers under Stiles’ chin, he applied the lightest pressure, tilting it just a fraction as he leaned forward, his eyelids already beginning to flutter closed. When he was a bare whisper away from pressing his lips to Stiles’, he felt it, the swift indrawn breath of a soundless, aching gasp. 

And then Stiles bridged the gap, his lips damp from where he’d run his tongue over them in his own expression of nerves. He kept it sweet, a tentative press that spoke of yearning more than lust. A small thing, but enough to convince Derek that he wasn’t alone in this.

Sliding his free hand down Stiles’ arm, he wrapped his fingers around Stiles’ wrist and brought it up between their chests, smoothing a thumb over Stiles’ palm until his fingers uncurled and Derek could flatten that long-fingered hand over his own chest.

Stiles pulled back from the kiss, but not far enough to signal a retreat, just enough to allow him to speak in a hushed, reverent tone. “Your heart,” he whispered, something like awe widening his eyes as they dropped to the place his palm was covering. “It’s…”

“Pounding,” Derek murmured, feeling a flush heat the bridge of his nose, the tips of his ears. “You’re not the only one nervous here,” he added, drawing Stiles’ gaze back to his own.

“Why are we so nervous?” Stiles wondered, his fingers growing restless against Derek’s chest, the tips scritching through his chest hair. 

“Because it means so much?” Derek offered, thumb stroking the curve of Stiles’ jaw.

Stiles clenched the hand on Derek’s chest into a fist, the neckline of Derek’s shirt caught in his grip. Tugging on it, Stiles leaned forward, brushing their mouths together again.

And again.

Derek hummed, drawing Stiles closer while still keeping a possessive hand under Stiles’ jaw, fingers smoothing down along the pulse that beat strong and fast in his throat. The beat that matched the rhythm of Derek’s racing heart.

Sinking into the kiss, Derek parted his lips, his teeth catching against Stiles’ bottom lip until he heard it again. That little fluttering gasp of breath.

He wanted to do this forever.


	32. Stilinski Feels

John climbed the stairs, feeling his age in the creaking of his knees and hearing it in the various snaps and cracks of his ankles. He would have stopped at the top of the stairs, but prior experience told him he’d need every ounce of forward momentum to get all the way to his bedroom.

He was almost there before he noticed it. Before the odd quality of the shadows in Stiles’ old bedroom pinged somewhere in the back of his mind, making his body react purely on instinct. He turned on his heel with the speed and grace of a man half his age, minimizing his silhouette to present the smallest possible target to whatever intruder might be there, only to sag with relief when he heard a wet-sounding sniffle.

“Sorry, Dad,” Stiles called out of the dark room. “It’s just me.”

The bedside light clicked on then and John took a bracing breath, reorganizing his night to include a – hopefully brief – chat with his son before tumbling into bed. “You’re lucky I already stowed my service revolver,” he muttered, stepping into Stiles’ room. “What’s up, kid? You and Derek have a fight?”

Stiles’ shoulders came up defensively before a little shudder went through him and he shook his head, coughing out a laugh that sounded like a sob. “No.”

John stiffened in alarm. There’d been no reports of any accidents that night, but that didn’t mean… “Is he–?”

“He’s okay. We’re all okay.” Stiles finally looked up then, his eyes puffy and nose and cheeks red and raw from crying. 

John stared down at Stiles, trying to read the truth before he gave up and grabbed the old chair from Stiles’ computer desk, wheeling it over and sinking heavily onto it. “So then…?”

Stiles swallowed, the sound loud and painful, and lowered his eyes to his clenched hands. “He… he asked me to marry him.”

John blinked, surprised. He tried to tamp down the proud happiness that wanted to rise up inside him at those words – they’d been a long time coming, but certainly not unexpected. “And you’re upset because he stole your thunder?” John asked, eyes flicking to the top drawer of Stiles’ old dresser where he happened to know a sparkling new wedding band was hiding away for the ‘perfect moment.’

“No. I just…” Stiles’ shoulders heaved, and his voice was almost too muffled by the tears he was struggling to hold in check. “What if he dies? Our lives– I can’t– How will I–” And Stiles’ looked up, an awful, beseeching expression on his destroyed features that told John what he really wanted to ask but still couldn’t being himself to.

Because it’s his mom, and they still, after all these years, struggled to talk about her. 

_How did you survive her death?_

John felt a little sucker punched, by the moment, by the words hanging unspoken between them. He had to breathe for a second, get his legs back under him. His night hadn’t planned for this.

He opened his mouth to answer, only to realize he didn’t have one. Claudia’s death had destroyed him. She was the bright center of his life and he had to watch that light slowly extinguish itself, right in front of his eyes. He hadn’t recovered, not in all the years since. He still reached for her in the middle of the night only to jolt awake to an empty bed.

And he knew Stiles’ fears weren’t groundless. Their lives weren’t as bad now as they’d been for a while there, but anything could happen.

So instead of offering useless platitudes about finding things to live for and going on because it’s what Derek would want, John rolled slightly foward until he could reach out and clasp Stiles’ restlessly twisting fingers, stilling them. “I’d do it again. In every timeline, knowing everything… I’d do it all again. I miss her, kid. Every piece of me misses her until it’s like knives in my chest. But I would marry her a thousand times over, even knowing the pain that would come.” His voice was gruff and scratchy with emotion by the time he stopped for breath. Then he thought to add, “And denying yourself this? It wouldn’t stop the pain anyway. I think I know you well enough to know better than to tell you, of all people, not to dwell on what ifs–”

Stiles chuckled a little wetly at that, wiping his face on his shoulder.

“But kid, married or not, you’re gonna love that man until the end of time. That’s how we’re built. The flaw in our design. Will it hurt less if you allow yourself this?” John turned their hands over, urging Stiles to open his fingers to show off the perfect circle of gold clutched in his fists.

Then John pushed to his feet and walked over to the window, raising it and making a ‘get in here’ gesture. On his way back to the door, he paused and placed one hand on Stiles’ bowed head. “I love you, kid. But maybe you’re so used to running from the bad things that you got used to it. You don’t have to run from the good.”

John waited until Derek was in the room, gathering Stiles up in his arms, before he left quietly, shutting the door behind himself.


	33. Grocery Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving old ficlets over here for keeping track of stuff purposes! Sorry if I flood your inboxes.

Stiles turns the corner, attention on the phone in his hand – and the recipe he’s got pulled up for stuffed chicken breasts that looked both delicious and heart-healthy when he stumbled across it on Facebook an hour ago – not looking up until his grocery cart smacks loudly into another one.  “Oh crap, sor–  Derek?”

  


Derek Hale is standing there, face caught somewhere between irritation – probably at being crashed into – and surprise.  “Stiles,” he says finally, looking down into Stiles’ cart, lips pursing as he sees the yellow, red, and green bell peppers in it.  

  


Which, okay, is probably a weird food item to be purchasing at 3am.  But in Stiles’ defense…

  


Huh.  Stiles doesn’t really _have_ a defense good enough to be shopping for stuffed chicken recipe items three hours before dawn on a Wednesday morning.  

  


So instead he rakes his own gaze judgingly over the box of Cookie Crisp cereal, bag of plain white rice, six pack of Dr Pepper in the 20 ounce plastic bottles – Scott had told Stiles back when he first turned that the metal cans made soda taste tinny to werewolves – and half a dozen hard boiled eggs that lined the bottom of Derek’s buggy.  

  


Tsking loudly, Stiles looks up at Derek from under his lashes, shaking his head with a little pout on his lips.  “I can’t believe you’re planning an epic blow out party without me, dude.”

  


Derek frowns and looks down at his items like he’s forgotten that he’s not actually purchasing ten cases of Natty Light and a big bag of tortilla chips.  Or, you know, whatever is involved in planning an epic blow out party.  “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” he asks instead, making Stiles grin at the way he’s obviously trying to force his voice into a deep and threatening register – which just makes him sound like he’s two seconds from having a coughing fit.  

  


It’s adorable.

  


Tilting his head to the side, Stiles lets his eyes go as wide as possible when he replies to Derek’s question with a flirty, “Is that an offer?”

  


It takes Derek a second to get it and when he does, Stiles can’t hold back his cackle at the way Derek’s entire face flushes with color.  

  


“Oh my god, shut up.  You know I didn’t mean–”  


  


“Of course I know that.  It’s what makes it so funny.  But nah, couldn’t sleep and Dad’s going to be home for dinner tonight, so I thought I’d try a new recipe.  We had most of the stuff at home, but I needed the peppers and cream cheese, so…”   Stiles honestly has no idea why he’s saying all this, and from the look on Derek’s face, he’s wondering the same thing.  


  


With a roll of his eyes, Stiles backs his buggy up in preparation for edging it around Derek’s, only to stop when Derek reaches out and grabs onto the front of it.  “Why can’t you sleep?”

  


Stiles stares at him for a long moment, lips parted as a dozen reasons tangle up on his tongue.  Derek obviously seems to realize what a stupid question that is, because he twists his mouth up into an expression that Stiles can’t remember ever seeing on his face.

  


Probably because it isn’t all glares and heavy eyebrows.

  


“Look, just…  Get your stuff.  We’ll go get milkshakes at the truck stop out by the highway when you’re done, okay?”  Derek lets go of the buggy slowly, still making serious eye contact.  “And you can tell me what’s going on in your head that keeps you from sleeping.”  


  


Stiles snorts, but doesn’t move.  “What?  You gonna be my therapist now?  Dr. Derek, psychologist?”

  


Derek rolls his own eyes at that. “No. But I know a little something about sleepless nights and grocery shopping at 3am.  Besides, when did you ever turn down a free milkshake?”

  


“Free?” Stiles asks, batting his eyelashes.  “You should have led with that, dude.  Free milkshakes, woo.  Buy me a cheeseburger too and you might get lucky after.”  


  


Derek steers his cart around Stiles, but not before Stiles sees the way his lips twitch up, just a little.  “Get your shit, Stiles.  If you’re not out front in five minutes, I’m leaving without you.”  


  


“Love you too, big guy,” Stiles says, and abandons all hope of being viewed as an adult in this town when he races through the aisles, picking up the last three items so he isn’t late for his early morning date with Derek.  


  


Because it’s totally a date.  Just ask him.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](http://eeyore9990.tumblr.com).


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